


some kind of miracle

by dioramas (nuages)



Category: The Vamps (UK Band)
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:50:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuages/pseuds/dioramas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>james would have decided very early on in his life that he totally despised train rides if he hadn’t met brad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	some kind of miracle

after four hours of being sandwiched in the front by a 6 year old who’d gone from adorable to annoying the moment he pulled on his hair (which he’d spent all morning fixing) (it still doesn’t look right), and in the back by a wrinkly old man who’d started to snore like a bulldozer every single time he decided to shut his eyes and get some sleep, james is hoping coming here was worth it. the keyword being ‘hoping’, seeing as he’s never met brad simpson in person before, let alone know if the person he’s been chatting to online is exactly who he says he is. so here he is, standing outside what was supposedly said person’s front door, currently debating whether to knock or just walk away, because right now he’s got his stomach in knots thinking this seemed like a better idea in his head.  
  
he’s got his guitar with him. he could totally rustle up some cash playing songs at the train station, so at the very least this trip didn’t end up being a complete waste…  
  
“um, excuse me?”  
  
…or not.  
  
“uh, yeah, sorry,” james says, a little embarrassed to have been caught standing outside a house like some creep. he spins around on his heel to face whoever spotted him. “i was just… admiring the paint job. on this door here.” he points to the door behind him, cringing at himself. in hindsight, it isn’t the worst thing he could have said, but _really?_  
  
“and how’s that working out for you, mate?”  
  
“pretty good, i guess.”  
  
after a few seconds of swearing at himself inside his head, he gathers some courage to look at the mystery man directly. the first thing he gathers is a messy lump of brunette curls, and then deep pools of brown stark against white, and that’s when it registers. brad. the guy he’d been talking to and eagerly awaiting to meet all this time because he’d been hoping to start a band since being a solo artist wasn’t working out was actually right there. he spits something out before he has time to think it through. “you’re real,” which, again, isn’t the worst thing he could have said, because he was almost about to say “your curls are even better in person” and it’s bad enough he looks like a creep, he definitely didn’t want to sound like one either.  
  
“have been all my life, as far as i can tell,” he jokes. “and so are you.”  
  
he steps down from the porch and extends his hand. “proper introductions then,” he muses. “james.”  
  
brad eyes his hand curiously before taking it with his own. “brad, and yes, i did just eye your hand, but only because a variety of things have a nasty habit of leaving themselves on the train station’s turnstiles.” james pulls a face of disgust and takes his hand back, flapping it in the air. “don’t worry mate. i did decide to shake it after all. come on.”  
  
‘curls’, which james had immediately taken to calling brad in his head (and would later drop, but that’s not important for now), motions for him to follow up the steps of the porch. he pushes his keys in and unlocks the door, stepping inside. “welcome to my humble abode.”  
  
they head straight for the kitchen, brad picking up the wall phone and immediately dialing in a familiar set of numbers. “pizza good with you?” he asks, as if he didn’t already know, throwing james a playful smirk. food had been a particular topic in their conversations, battling each other’s taste but mutually agreeing on pizza. it was a silent agreement long ago that it would be a staple of their meet-up, whenever it would happen, and james thinks then about how long he’s known brad without actually having “known” him. he lets the thought go and decides to reply with a wide grin. “pizza’s great.”  
  
as brad takes to the phone to call in their order, james goes to studying the space around him. the kitchen walls are adorned with multiple family photos, if they aren’t already covered in anything else. he takes a short glance at each one, seeing a timeline of brad’s life from baby to present. when he catches one of him playing a guitar in front of his family, he stares at it a little longer, before moving on.  
  
it’s a decent place, a kind of warm and cozy that only a family home could provide. in a way, it reminds him of his own home, and that eases the stress of his mind a little. just a little though. the nerves still threatened to burst at any moment. it’s not as if there was any laid out plan for today. he still barely knew if this thing they’d agreed upon would work. when james dropped him a friend request on Facebook and started discussing the possibility of forming a band together, he was crossing his fingers it wouldn’t fall apart the moment they actually got together to make music.  
  
“so…” brad starts.  
  
“so…” james follows in suit.  
  
a silence falls upon them. james scratches at the back of his neck, and brad darts his eyes from left to right, until he lands on something behind james. he lights up.  
  
“video games?” brad speaks up.  
  
james nods in relief.  
  
—  
  
during the 3 hours of video games and pizza, of which one slice was now splattered on the wall after a disastrous food fight (“my mom is going to kill me!” “you can pay her when you’re famous.”), james finally eases into the whole thing. he’s still worried, yes, but he can’t be, not when FIFA is on the line. especially not.  
  
“and i win again!” james shouts triumphantly, rising from his seat with his fists in the air. “what do you say, simpson? best 6 out of 10?” he turns to the curly haired boy, ready to bask in the annoyance sure to be present on his face, and he wasn’t disappointed. he looked absolutely miffed at losing again. then he chuckles, and gets up. “yeah sure, just lemme grab a drink,” he says as he exits into the kitchen.  
  
james pops out his phone and takes a seat, spreading his long legs out underneath the low coffee table. 3 hours, it finally registers. 3 hours and they haven’t done a single thing regarding music. _james mcvey, you have absolutely hit a new low._ he supposes they could do it next time around, once he's gotten the balls to do it and not worry so much. he doesn’t even know why he’s worried. brad obviously said yes to him coming for a reason. brad obviously thought he was a good musician. brad obviously thought this band thing could work. brad— where is he anyway?  
  
“brad?” he calls out into the house, and yet all he got was silence, save for the droning buzz of the tv. he strides into the kitchen only to find an unopened can of cola on the dinner table. _could have sworn he was…_  
  
a strum of chords reaches his ear. he freezes, tries to find where the noise came from, when it comes again, followed by a new one. and he knows it, knows those chords like the back of his hand (not that he actually knew the back of his hand well), and once they come again he can already tell what the next one is, so he focuses on the direction it's coming from instead.  
  
he follows the sound to the backyard, met with a sight he’s only ever seen on a screen. brad’s hands are grasped firmly on james’ guitar, papers sprawled out in front of him as he absentmindedly studies what’s written on them. james already knows what they are, knows them by heart if he’s not trying to be humble. they’re his songs. “hey,” he says.  
  
brad looks up, noticing for once that someone else was there with him. he blushes. “hey, sorry. i was just…” he gestures to the papers and the guitar and smiles sheepishly. the smile drops from his face. james stares at him confused. “didn’t mean to steal your guitar or anything.” _oh._ james lets out a quiet laugh. “it’s cool.” he sees brad awkwardly shift in his seat and it annoys him. what right does he have to be nervous? james is the one on trial here. granted, he hasn’t really sung anything, but still. brad’s seen the music sheets, probably knows what the songs sound like, probably thinks they’re all shit—james almost feels like he never left 3 hours ago standing outside brad’s house.  
  
he gulps, then sighs. one chance to prove himself. that’s all he’s got. “want me to play it?”  
  
brad’s anxious figure lights up, and he nods excitedly. he offers the guitar to james, who sits down next to him and props a leg up to keep the instrument steady. he fumbles with it for a few seconds, gets everything in the right position, tells himself so that it’ll come out sounding perfect, and not because he was prolonging whatever happened afterwards, and then exhales. he looks up from the guitar to brad’s encouraging smile. he’s even got one thumb up to tell him he’s ready, and how could james say no? so he starts. he plays the first chord, and the next, and the next, and once he starts singing, he loses track of what’s going on and just plays like it’s all he’s ever known. (and to james, sometimes it is.)  
  
when he stops, he turns to brad who sits there with his lips pursed together like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. he grimaces, expecting the worst. he eyes all the possible exits he can use to make a quick getaway and then mentally hits himself because really, he’s embarrassed himself enough as it is. as he contemplates all possible excuses to go home that don’t sound ridiculous, brad speaks up. “are you sure you want me in the band?”  
  
on the list of things he was expecting brad to say, that was definitely nowhere on there. “what?” james ask, genuinely caught off guard that brad would ask him that.  
  
brad shrugs. “dunno, i don’t think i’m good enough to qualify.”  
  
james could have kissed brad right then and there, he’s not joking. “are you kidding me, mate? i thought **i** wasn’t good enough for you!”  
  
after a period of staring at each other in disbelief, they both erupt into laughter. it goes on for what feels like ages until they both simmer down into a calm that reflected the growing night surrounding them. james looks up to the sky, a full moon shining down on him like it was smiling, and he gladly returns it.  
  
“how’s about you teach me that song then?”  
  
and to james mcvey, that’s how the vamps started.

**Author's Note:**

> how this happened, i have no idea.


End file.
